a sacred poem

transport the morsel

bring and shine fade and take

illuminate us oh lord

the transfiguration of your ballyhoo

has left us bleeding from our thumbs

the blood drops down onto

our knees the final nail in the coffin

and you so bloody erect

in the final days of your graciousness

what is left but ache and rage

as i look on in horror at

all the things i never wanted

a stampeding of the horses

and the runaways in the field

the beleagured witches

the veiled totems

symbols upon a cross in wales

and the diamond mines

and the furious gales

we're lost at sea, mon pote

we're lost and yet

who gives a fuck

it's a merry-go-round this life

i'll take the white one

you take the black

and we'll race back to old hackensack

break open the mail

and read old poems like fruity plums

and eat of each other to stay alive